


Straight Up With a Twist

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-30
Updated: 2006-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Boys. Bars. Body shots. (and a motel.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Straight Up With a Twist  
 **Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
 **Characters:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** NC-17 for language and graphic sexual content. [um, incest anyone? kthx.]  
 **Category:** Wincest, slash  
 **Word Count:** 3, 450  
 **Spoilers:** General S1  
 **Warnings:** A whole lotta incest.  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t own, don’t sue.  
 **Summary:** Boys. Bars. Body shots. (and a motel.)  
 **Notes:** Blame [ ](http://wendy.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://wendy.livejournal.com/)**wendy** again. That is all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“What the hell do you mean you’ve never done it before?”  
  
Sam scowled as Dean’s voice rose over the thrumming beat of hard guitar. Gripping his beer tightly and downing a swig, he did his best to ignore the utterly flabbergasted expression coloring his older brother’s features. After a silent battle of wits that spanned long seconds, it became obvious that Dean wasn’t going to let it slide without some kind of comment from Sam.  
  
“Just never had the opportunity, I guess,” Sam shrugged in response, turning his attention to the local band playing onstage and hoping that would be the end of it. And it probably would’ve been, had he been with anyone _other_ than Dean.  
  
“You gotta be shitting me,” Dean muttered, and out of the corner of his eye Sam saw him drag a hand through his hair. Several dirty-blonde strands stood up on end, but it only made Dean look that much more appealing, honestly.  
  
Sam didn’t stop to wonder over how easily that thought had entered his brain; he was simply stating the obvious. His brother was a good-looking guy, end of story. Always had been. Sam would place money that if they both survived to reach old age, Dean would be the guy sitting around the nursing home pinching all the ladies’ asses and getting away with it because he was _Dean_.  
  
“Sam.” Dean’s tone was exasperated and more than a little amused. “This just ain’t gonna fly, little brother.”  
  
“It’s not that big a deal!” Sam laughed, slumping back in his chair and watching Dean through half-closed lids as he tapped out the beat of a Zeppelin cover on the table. “Dean, it's body shots – not sex.”  
  
Judging by Dean’s expression, he didn’t find Sam’s blasé remark reassuring.  
  
“Oh, for the love of…you’re talking about licking salt off of someone and throwing back a little tequila.” Sam rolled his eyes, arm hooked over the empty chair beside him. “Get real, Dean.”  
  
“This is serious, Sam. A rite of passage even. ” Dean’s voice had taken on a note of solemnity that his brother typically reserved for training sessions.  
  
 _You gotta load the gun this way, Sam. Now aim it like this…no, use your shoulder, not your arm._  
  
“Are you listening to me?”  
  
Sam blinked, looking over to find Dean frowning at him. At the realization that he’d just zoned out in the middle of a crowded bar with his brother bitching at him, Sam began to rethink the wisdom of that last round. Of course, he’d have cut himself off long before now, but he’d felt the need to prove something after Dean had drunk him under the table in Arizona the week before.  
  
“Honestly?” he said, feeling relaxed and easygoing from the effects of the alcohol, “I’m not.”  
  
“Bitch.”  
  
“Jerk.” Sam grinned easily, sliding a toothpick between his lips and chewing on it as his brother glowered. “What? You asked.”  
  
Dean rumbled something beneath his breath that Sam couldn’t quite make out, then pushed back in his chair. “Let’s get outta here, this band is making my ears bleed.”  
  
“I dunno.” Sam cocked his head, listening to the off-key wailing and feeling contrary. “They aren’t that bad.”  
  
“Dude, if Robert Plant heard this shit, he’d roll over in his grave.”  
  
“Robert Plant’s not dead, dumbass.”  
  
“I _know_ that. And dude, don’t correct me.”  
  
“You said—”  
  
Dean growled, low in his throat, and Sam grinned again. “Let’s go. And I need to make a stop on the way.”  
  
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ no.”  
  
“C’mon, Sam,” Dean wheedled, teeth flashing as he waved the brown paper sack in his brother’s face. “We gotta devirginize you before anyone finds out and realizes you’re related to me.”  
  
The cheap motel mattress creaked as Dean threw himself across the florid bedspread, catching Sam’s ankle before he could escape into the bathroom. It erupted into a minor scuffle during which Sam, all flailing arms and legs, tackled Dean to the ground and sat on his chest, glaring down at his brother and panting with effort.  
  
“Easy, now,” Dean murmured, grinning dangerously up at him. He held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “Move your knee an inch to the left and see if you ever end up with any nieces or nephews.”  
  
It was supposed to be a joke, but Sam was suddenly assaulted by the not-so-wonderful images of Dean and some faceless stranger, living the life he’d planned for himself and Jessica back when things had still felt _normal_. Living the dream.  
  
He pressed his knee in, punishingly, and Dean’s smile cracked. “Now, Sammy—”  
  
“Fuck you, we’ll do the goddamn shots,” Sam muttered, getting off of Dean and scrubbing a hand down his face. Christ, what the _hell_ was his problem? He felt off-center, confused and disoriented. And it wasn’t because of the alcohol singing through his system.  
  
A lot of it could be attributed to fucking _Dean_.  
  
Dean remained on the floor for a moment, silent, no doubt surprised by Sam’s abrupt turnaround. It didn’t last near long enough before he came to his feet, rubbing his hands together and watching Sam with a veiled expression. “Well, all right then.”  
  
Sam’s eyes flicked away to where the brown bag was lying innocuously on the floor. “I don’t get why we’re doing this. Isn’t the point of doing body shots to get laid?” he wondered, inanely. Then could have cut his own head off with a rusty hunting knife when Dean just grinned long and slow.  
  
“You can play it that way, sure,” Dean answered, and Sam wondered if he was imagining the deeper connotation coloring his brother’s voice. While he inwardly freaked over _that_ , Dean continued with, “Mostly it’s about getting drunk and having a little fun, Sam. Something I think you could use a great big helping of.”  
  
Sam stiffened when Dean approached, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him toward the bed. “We could’ve gotten drunk back at the bar,” he pointed out, desperately trying to ignore the heat emanating from Dean’s body pressed up against his.  
  
God, this was _so_ fucked up. He hated himself, but mostly he just hated Dean, who chose that moment to yank his shirt over his head and throw it across the room. Sam sprang off of the bed like someone had slid a hot poker up his ass.   
  
“Dude, what the _fuck?_ ”  
  
Dean frowned at the bleated words. “It’s hot,” he explained in slow, concise syllables as if was speaking to a mentally challenged person. Sam flushed when he added, “What the hell has you so damn jumpy?”  
  
“I’m not jumpy,” Sam muttered, knowing damn well that he was acting jumpy. He grabbed the shot glass Dean had _borrowed_ from the bar, rolling it over in his palm and pretending to study the label.  
  
“Don’t be such a pussy,” Dean snorted, grabbing the shot glass from Sam and filling it to the brim with Jose Cuervo before thrusting it back at him. Sam nearly gagged when a piece of lime was thrust between his lips, and he glared at Dean. Dean simply smiled. “If we’re gonna do this, we’ll do it the right way.”  
  
Sam made some kind of indiscernible noise around the tart fruit, but figured he’d gotten his point across when Dean chuckled. “I’ll be the girl next time, Sam.”  
  
Sam could only watch in silence as Dean leaned forward, hands on Sam’s hips. The first touch of his brother’s tongue against his neck made Sam jerk in reaction, and he almost choked on the lime when Dean’s fingers squeezed.  
  
“Settle down,” Dean murmured, pulling back and meeting Sam’s wild-eyed expression. Holding his gaze, Dean sprinkled salt liberally on the area he’d just wetted with his tongue, then proceeded to lick the salt away. “You wanna put just enough to contrast the flavor of the tequila, you know?”  
  
Dean’s voice was soft and husky, and Sam bit the inside of his cheek so hard he could feel blood vessels bursting, filling his mouth with the faint flavor of copper. He was unable to look away as Dean took the tequila from his fingers; downing it in an easy swallow and following it up by sucking the slice of lime right out of his mouth.  
  
Their lips touched, briefly, and Sam went immediately and embarrassingly hard. Dean didn’t seem to notice, or else didn’t really mind. Chewing on the pulp of the fruit, he held up another slice and lifted a brow before offering it to Sam.  
  
Sam reached out to take it, then changed his mind, eyes on the bottle of tequila resting on the nightstand. “Let me try that.”  
  
Dean’s features melted into something that sent a shiver of excitement shooting down Sam’s spine, and his brother nodded sharply. Both were breathing heavy and ragged as Sam reached for a slice of lime, slipping it into Dean’s open mouth. As he drew his hand away, Dean’s tongue curled around his fingers.  
  
Things were getting out of control, and fast, but Sam either truly didn’t care or was too drunk to. Salt shaker in hand, he bent forward to reach Dean’s neck, eyes closing the moment tongue touched flesh.  
  
Dean let out a soft sound, tilting his head to offer Sam better access as Sam swirled his tongue, lingering longer than was really necessary. They both knew it. Dean’s thumbs pressed into his hips, drawing small circles as Sam sprinkled the salt and returned to Dean’s neck.  
  
“Fuck.” The word was slurred and thick, escaping in a hiss from between Sam’s teeth seconds before he bit down gently, laving the sting away with the flat of his tongue. Dean wobbled on his feet, and a sick thrill rushed through Sam at the idea that all it had taken to bring his brother’s cocky attitude down a few notches was, well, _him_.  
  
He took the shot, the tequila going down smooth as he licked his lips and caught a stray grain of salt. Dean’s eyes tracked the movement, pupils spreading and darkening before returning to Sam’s face.  
  
Sam made quick work of the fruit, sucking it into his mouth with little to no contact from Dean. A dangerous plan was already forming in the back of his mind when he took a step back, wiping hands sticky with juice against denim-clad legs.  
  
“All right, I think I got it,” he said, biting back a smile when frustration crossed Dean’s features. He started to turn away, but was pulled up short by Dean’s iron grip on his wrist. Trying to hide his amusement, he looked back. And swallowed.  
  
“I don’t fucking think so,” Dean replied easily, voice low and meaningful. Before Sam could react, he found himself sprawled out on the bed, shirt rucked up to his nipples as Dean straddled his knees and held the salt shaker in the air with a wicked grin.  
  
It was one thing to tease, but the look in Dean’s eyes signified something altogether different, and Sam felt a moment’s panic. His hands fell to Dean’s waist, unsure if he wanted to push away or pull closer. “Dean.”  
  
Dean’s fingers were busy working at Sam’s jeans, and Sam lifted his hips, letting his brother jerk the denim down to his thighs as Dean’s head bent. His mouth pressed against the curve of Sam’s hip, and Sam nearly bucked off the bed. “ _Dean!_ ”  
  
Again, that unholy chuckle as Dean brought his head up long enough to smirk at the expression on Sam’s face. Shaking granules of salt along the line he’d just made with his tongue, he drawled sinfully, “If you can’t take the heat…” then lowered his head again.  
  
Sam’s fingers blindly searched for purchase, finding it in the silky-short strands covering Dean’s scalp. He knew he was tugging too hard, knew it had to hurt, but Dean only licked more aggressively. Sucked more feverishly.  
  
The tequila and lime were forgotten at this point, and the salt was no longer needed to flavor their bodies. Sweat and desperation took over, and the combination had an effect more heady than the most potent liquor.  
  
Sam found the strength to sit up somewhere around the time Dean’s mouth attached itself to his nipple, and his head fell back against the wall with a thump when Dean all but crawled into his lap, humping slow and dirty against Sam’s thigh.  
  
“Take this shit off,” Dean mumbled against his chest, fingers tearing at the hem of Sam’s cotton undershirt. He looked up, mouth shiny and wet, eyes dark and blurred with the kind of lust Sam had only seen the time they’d taken down a succubus in New York.  
  
The reminder was a bit of a jolt, and he froze, drunken mind fighting to work out whether or not something supernatural could be occurring. Something that was making it damn difficult for him to remember that Dean was his _brother_ , and therefore he shouldn’t be fantasizing about fucking him through the mattress.  
  
“No, we’re just drunk and horny,” Dean said, and Sam blinked at the realization that he’d spoken out loud. Then, “Stop thinking so goddamn much, Sammy. Just enjoy the fact that I’m about to suck your dick and worry about the rest in the morning.”  
  
Well, that was the worst bit of advice he’d ever heard – and pretty typical of Dean – but Sam couldn’t think of a witty retort. Mostly because he was still stuck on the “I’m about to suck your dick” that had come out of his brother’s pretty mouth.  
  
And then, he couldn’t think about _anything_ , because Dean was sliding down his body, dragging Sam with him to the edge of the bed. Sam’s jeans and boxers disappeared like they were never there at all, and then Dean kneeled at the foot of the bed, palming Sam’s thighs and nuzzling his lower abdomen.  
  
Sam’s mouth fell open the moment hot, wet warmth closed over his cock, and a low keening moan filled the quiet motel room, mingling with the soft whir of an overhead fan. Sam’s fingers twisted in the sheets, hips bucking in time with Dean’s lips moving along his shaft. Something so obviously _wrong_ shouldn't feel this fucking _good_ , he was pretty damn sure.  
  
To make matters worse, Dean was making noises that were just downright _unfair_ to Sam’s ragged state of mind – slurps and groans and soft whispers of “That’s it…come on…”  
  
“I…” Sam’s teeth gritted when Dean curled his tongue on the underside of his dick, brushing against that _fuckingspot_ … “Ah, yeah, right there…”  
  
And then, Dean’s mouth disappeared and Sam’s eyes flew open to stare dazedly up at the ceiling. “Dean, what—” he trailed off when, seconds later, his brother’s face appeared over him, and Sam sucked in a sharp breath. Dean’s intent was evident as he jerked his pants open, eyes never leaving Sam’s.  
  
Sam’s heart was thundering in his ears, nerves torn and ragged at the edges even as he reached out to run his hands down the taut muscles in Dean’s arms. “Dean, we’re drunk, we shouldn’t…”  
  
“I’m not that drunk.” The words were short and clipped, soaked in every unmentionable emotion that should never exist between them. Every feeling that always _had_.   
  
And yeah, Sam wasn’t really that drunk, either.   
  
Dean’s pants flew across the room, and then he was climbing up Sam’s body, mumbling, “So fucking tall…Christ…” then caught Sam’s mouth. “You got anything?”  
  
“Dean,” he groaned, gripping the lean line of Dean’s hips so hard he knew there would be bruises the shape of his fingertips come morning. The idea pleased him in a twisted way, and he dug in deeper until Dean hissed through his teeth and his head fell back.  
  
“Fuck it,” his brother muttered, raising a palm and licking it, slowly, reaching down between his legs and taking Sam in hand. Sam’s lids and tongue felt heavy, and he could only lie there and whimper when Dean scooted forward an inch, angling Sam’s dick at just the right spot…  
  
“ _Shit!_ ” both yelled at the same time, for different reasons. Dean froze, a look on his face that might’ve been amusing at any other time. As it was, any capability of actual intelligent thought had left Sam the second his brother had impaled himself on his cock. He stared up at Dean, mouth wide open and soundless as Dean gasped and grunted and groaned, shifting around on top of him to find an angle that suited him.  
  
Feeling slightly guilty about the pained expression on Dean’s face, Sam managed, “We don’t have to…” even though he knew if they stopped now, he’d be facing a long night of jerking off to little satisfaction.  
  
Dean’s lips flattened and he sneered down at Sam, all cocky and in charge once again. Typical Dean Winchester. “Shut up and gimme a minute here. You’re a fucking _proportional_ giant.”  
  
Sam snorted. “I can’t believe you can even _say_ ‘proportional’ right now, much less know what it means.”  
  
“Fuck you, dude.” And then Dean moved, just a small flutter of his hips, and Sam was pretty sure he screamed like a girl. There was no other way to describe the high-pitched wail that erupted from his throat, and Dean paused and looked down at him and leered.  
  
“Jesus, Sammy, didn’t know you were one of those.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a raspy, “Shut up. And fuck. Me.”  
  
The smile slid from Dean’s features, revealing a desperation that matched Sam’s own as he rolled his hips again, sending Sam deeper. Sam’s eyes flew up into the back of his head as he literally _felt_ himself stretching his brother’s ass to fit his cock.  
  
So. Fucking. Wrong. And dirty. And _hot_.  
  
“This is unreal,” Dean was saying in a throaty voice that reminded Sam of a fucking porn star he’d seen on the single video he’d ever rented back at Stanford. He’d never told anyone, and God, why _would_ he, but that voice had gotten him so hard and frantic that he’d never even made it to the climax of the film before coming all over himself.  
  
“Um…” was all he could manage in response, swallowing hard, blunt nails raking up and down the muscles standing out in relief on Dean’s back. “Dean, I’m gonna…”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean moved faster, breathless as he gazed down at Sam so intently that it was a near-glare. “Already?”  
  
Sam wanted to laugh at the veiled insult. “You have no fucking idea what this feels like.”  
  
“Oh, I have an idea, Sammy…” Dean’s lids went heavy, and he licked his lips before making a jerky motion on Sam’s lap. “A really fucking good idea.”  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered, watching his brother get himself off on _his_ dick. It all felt like too _much_ , and he wanted to reach down and grab his balls to keep himself from coming. Draw it out as long as he could, which was next to impossible with Dean riding him like he was in the goddamn rodeo and looking down at Sam with that knowing, sexy smirk shadowing his eyes.  
  
_You know you’ve wanted this._  
  
When Dean expressed the thought out loud a minute later, Sam couldn’t stop himself. Palms thrusting Dean’s hips down, he arched his back and came in a blinding explosion of curses and clawing and bright colors behind his lids.  
  
When he regained the sense of speech, he abruptly lost it again the moment his eyes fell back on Dean; his brother’s eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed as he continued grinding against Sam and used one hand to jerk himself off.  
  
Sam made an appreciative sort of sound, and Dean’s eyes popped open, pinning Sam in place as his teeth bared and he groaned his release around Sam’s name. Warm come splashed across Sam’s chest, and he waited for the sickening disbelief of what he’d done – what _they’d_ done – to sink in.  
  
It didn’t.  
  
“Stop…thinking so…hard,” Dean panted, repeating his earlier words as he slid off of Sam with a slight grimace. “Tomorrow, remember?”  
  
Sam nodded, knowing damn well that the morning would bring no magical conversation where they came to terms with what had happened in the dark of a cheap motel off the highway. More likely, they’d never speak of it again, until the next night Dean decided to seduce him under the guise of alcohol and body shots.  
  
Sam found he didn’t really mind - much. And proceeded to fuck Dean two more times before tomorrow came. 


End file.
